


Dragon Age Prompt Log

by ultrachicory



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrachicory/pseuds/ultrachicory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have done a few prompts for some friends on tumble, feel free to shot me a message if you have something you think I should try!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No need to say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for aslinncosplay.

 

Dorian stared at the ceramic jar on the table. He turned it to the left. Then right again, scrutinizing the dark velvet ribbon twisted about the glazed vessel. The fingers of a perfectionist pulled at the limp loops, amending a section that was just a tad too long. But that only made the opposite side seem off yet again.

“Look at you, fussing over a decoration like an enamored youth.” The Tevinter man chided himself as he returned the jar into the small basket of other sundry goods. A massive pair of silky socks rolled carefully together and bound with twine. An unopened decanter of amber liquid with a few spots of dust settled inside the embellished crevices. A bag of candied fruits, sweet and tangy enough to suit the Qunari’s bold palate. The jar was particularly special, a rare treat that couldn’t be purchased at just any little stall. He placed it centrally, marking the gift’s importance.

With one long glance in the mirror, Dorian inspected the groomed hair atop his head and smoothed down his moustache. The rest of him was impeccable, as always. Not a spot on his boots or a shining buckle out of place. He aimed to impress from the moment he rose out of bed though he would be needing far less time to preen over the next several weeks. It wasn’t every day one left for a winter’s long excursion to the Western Approach, not that escaping the chilly clutches of Skyhold had been deemed a poor perk.

But Bull wasn’t coming on this trip. He’d be spending the entire season at the home base with his fellow Chargers, making themselves useful while Inquisitor Lavellen was gone for the extended tour with a good deal of troops being repositioned.

“Best move along handsome, you are wasn’t daylight.” The mage collected the assortment and left his apartment, bags packed and loaded, this was the last item on his to-do list. Down the frozen garden stair he went, doing his best not to shiver in the biting cold. Turning the last flight, however, he spotted a wide-set pair of horns thrust high over one of the many icy bushes placed around the inner wall.

“You could have come upstairs to say your goodbyes. I might’ve indulged you in something a bit warmer than that cold stone bench beneath your ass.” He chirped as he strode into the snowy plot to stand before a haggard old mercenary resting his haunches for a stretch.

A flat grin toyed with Bull’s mouth when the basket was unceremoniously thrust towards his face, held out by one tightly gloved hand. “You know I don’t take bribes.” He teased.

“This isn’t a bribe you loaf. Just take it before I change my mind.” Dorian said, his chest puffing out. Oddly enough, his face no longer felt the chilly mountain air quite so sharply.

Iron Bull accepted the small offering with his good hand, taking it from the mage with one large finger that stole a chance to slide over the buttery leather. His functioning eye scanned the contents as he settled it into his lap. “What’s this all about? That red rope you gave me last month was nice enough, gotten plenty of uses already.”

Dorian fidgeted, his heels churning in the fresh snow. “I don’t want you to get cold at night. This might keep the serving girls out of your bed while I’m away.”

He observed with feigned indifference as the huge man lifted the fine ceramic jar. With the remaining, full-length digits on his hand he removed the fretted ribbon and lifted the knobbed lid. He brought the canister up to his nose and gave a deep sniff, his brow rose high when the rich scent hit his gray nostrils. Bull licked a fingertip and took a dip, bring up a coating of fine, dark brown powder to run over his tongue. “Chocolate eh? Has some heat behind it too.”

“It’s better than that drivel you’ve been adding to hot milk. I had to get that imported all the way from Antiva, but the spices are from Tevinter.”

“That’s… that’s real nice of ya…” Iron Bull cleaned his finger and replaced the lid. For a time, he looked up at the distracted face of the tidy man whose eyes flicked back to meet his own. “Can I… I’ll write to you.”

“Of course you will. I’d hate to forget you will I’m off trouncing through the desert. Who knows what exotic creature I might stumble across for entertainment.” Assured Dorian, his face only grew warmer when he saw a white flash of teeth behind thick mauve lips. He took a half step away, intended goal met, but he turned back abruptly to steal an impulsive, flaunting kiss before that smile dissolved. “I expect a letter the day after I get there.”

“Course.” Answered Bull with a throaty chuckle. “But I already sent one yesterday.”

 

 

 

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. It's a Mod World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Capri.

“Oh look, another hair mod to save us from the fifty shades of bald in the CC. Let me guess, elves and humans only. Qunari need some love now and then too. ” You mumble with boredom, leaning hard into your hand while scrolling through the latest wave of new Inquisition mods. You’ve played the game, all the games actually, so many times and it’s been months since the last DLC drop. There has to be something to spice up the vanilla system you’ve come to love over the last year, but after four hundred hours of play time, five fully finished play-throughs and every achievement unlocked you can’t help but look for a new addition.

Another week has passed by and still no one has created a mabari add-on, even if it couldn’t follow you around it would be nice to see a hound sleeping by one of the fireplaces in the main hall or sitting outside the Herald’s rest. And it had to have the option to pet it. This would be a thousand times better if Jim the idiot Scout was replaced with a dog, you wouldn’t mind seeing that cute, drooling face repeated again as a base model. 

“What’s this?” All the way at the bottom of the screen, the file size doesn’t look big enough to give everything the description promises. Unlocks unused dialogue, triggers randomly, wider response in NPC to environmental changes, improved AI functions and reactions. Sure, bet it causes more clipping than that reshader you downloaded for DA2. You still have screenshots of the time all your favorite companions merged into one ridiculous being. Varric’s head sticking out of Isabela’s chest had been your background for nearly a month. You always knew he’d be a boob-man, it was a proud moment to see him embrace it for himself.

“Hmmm, no reviews yet either.” It’s only been up a few minutes. You tap at your mouse a few idle times, debating on if it’s worth adding on top of everything else. It took half the day last time to sort a bad mod out of the ever expanding list. Best to test it on an unaltered game first, there’s still that Solas romance you haven’t progressed yet. It’s your third one, you can’t seem to make an elf romance anyone else. Poor Lavellan, the girl doesn’t know what’s coming. Again. Just thinking about putting that Inquisitor through the Crestwood debacle is enough to make you want to weep, but only a little…

“And installed, let’s fire this bad boy up!” You spin in your chair, waiting for the game to load, catching only glimpses of the endlessly marching mages and Templars. “Now where is that save file? I really need to clean this list up. But when in doubt, save, save, save.”

There. Perfect, the one before the Temple of Mythal should work just fine. Though that means you’ll have to walk all those puzzles again. Once down the blasted hole was enough, plus it ruined all that extra glorious time with Abelas because of Morrigan’s complete lack of chill.

“Ok, let’s go see that Fade-nerd. Shit, what were we doing on top of this roof… I’m sure I collected that arrow already. Probably just flycaming again.” You say as you twirl your Lavellan around and around to test your framerates before having her jump down into the gardens, landing oh so elegantly amid the patrons instead of on top of someone’s head. You are now used to sliding off the normally immobile folk, several of the milling people disperse a few steps when they look up of all things to see her fall and hit the ground. It took a moment longer for your character to recover, but Lavellan brushed it off all the same. “Well that’s convenient, guess who’s not getting stuck behind gossiping crowds anymore! Where’s those snotty nobles, I want to run through them.”

For the next half hour you do nothing but attempt to slam into the formerly stoic members of Skyhold, but each time they are shoved to the side or move of their own volition. One almost looked like they were glaring when you bumped them repeatedly. You remind yourself to take a short video later to dub over, and call it the ‘dumb-quisitor’ or something nonsensical. Perhaps Varric will put on a good show with his ever classic bull-shitter’s stare. Having finally had enough of the shenanigans, what better time than any to pester ol’ Solas.

Up to the rookery you send your Lavellan, and with some careful maneuvering she teeters on the narrow railing while you wait for just the right moment to leap onto Solas’ desk. Fingers on the camera triggers, you can’t wait to see what the hobo-boyfriend will do when his vhenan comes flying down.

Lavellan hesitates when you direct a jump, probably just food stuck in the button, another tap sends her forward. With giggling glee you wait to start snapping a few well timed screenshots, yet all too quickly the little prank loses its luster.

The Inquisitor hits the desk, hard, crumpling into her usual loose heap. But she doesn’t snap back to her feet, instead she rolls off the table and remains on the rotunda floor.

“No! Hold on!” Solas shouts, but that dialogue is normally reserved for combat. You’re sure of it because you’ve let her die several times just to hear him say those same words. There’s no fall damage in Skyhold however, no required triggering for the alarmed words. You try to get the motionless character moving, you go to use a potion but find the option deadlocked. You can’t even save at this point.

Wordlessly you gape as the path-set NPC breaks from his coded loop and kneels beside the fallen Herald, laying his hands upon her all too still body. For the terrifying moment while you work to forcefully shut down the game, you hear what sounds like crying just before the screen returns to the main one. The mages and Templars march again, unchanged as they had been before.

“Maker’s sagging balls! What the fuck was that!” You spit, opening up the download folders. Modders are not people, they are monsters! “You mother-fucking trolls!! How could you make such a horrible thing!” That was too much, not anything like what you wanted. Several clicks later and the horrible file has been turned off and the game fully rebooted. You still have to test to see if things are still working properly, but your hands shake slightly as everything starts back up. Maybe its excitement, you’ve never seen an easter-egg like that before.

Not tonight, your week has been exhausting enough. You need more mental fortitude to fully appreciate all the hard work that’s gone into this revision. You pick a save further down the line, not even daring to touch the unfinished Lavellan play-through—any of your elfy ones for the matter— afraid of what you might find if you open it again.

There’s your first Adaar, all six feet of dark muscles, curled horns and unstoppable rage. He was such a fun and hostile warrior, siding immediately with the Templars and opting for anti-mage everything. His companions all despised the bloody leader they’d helped to the independent throne, you can’t even romance anyone because of how low their approval has fallen. Josephine is too pure for this bastard; you could never throw her into the arms of such a wicked devil. She has a charming Cadash now after all, why ruin a match made in heaven like that.

Perchance some violence and rivalry will help wash the horrified taste from your mouth, with a few map clicks you are off on your way to the Fallow Mire. Time to kill some undead and smash a few demons for kicks, you aren’t in the mood much for dragon hunting just yet.

Through the swamps you march, so far all is well. Cassandra, Blackwall and Iron Bull all follow you in formation even with a few quick stops and direction changes to check the mechanics. And better yet, in silence. Into the hell pit you all go for some zombie thrashing, hope everyone brought some extra clothes, they’ll have to burn the ones they’re in after this.

Good, that mod appears to be gone now. No more untested anything for you for a while, maybe you should have just stuck with the aesthetic ones after all. Giving Dorian a right proper cockatiel ‘do had been more than enough, why risk breaking an already good game.

Things go well as you work your way through the twisting, infested swamp and for a time it doesn’t matter that you still have a harder mode on. This guy’s a bruiser, he can take a few knocks and you have plenty of health remedies to keep in one piece. You turned off the potion use for the others, wanting to regulate it yourself while in combat. Cassandra’s stats always go up while she’s hurt anyways, and there are a few camps to refresh in if need be. But if that damned requisition’s officer has one more message for you, Ser, then you might just shut him up for good. There is no time for fetch missions to make unnoticeable changes to tents and wagons and spy glasses. You have killing to do!

After clearing the third mound with an elvhen rune and surviving several waves of demons you go through the last of your potions. Maybe you should have brought a mage to do a little healing, but the mere thought of bringing Solas along after hearing his broken sob makes your skin crawl. Someone must have found more of the voice actor’s work to blend in, the effect had been astounding though.

Perhaps you need some tea to soothe your nerves, couldn’t help. A day of gaming does make for quite the thirst. You leave your video game for a time and head to the kitchen, “What did I do with my favorite Fenris cup…” You didn’t pay an Etsy seller handsomely to lose one of your most prized possessions like that. There it is, sitting by your stash of Dragon Age related comic books. What a dork, but at least you are a happy fangirl. And that’s what really matters, right?

The world is right again, your cup having been located. A quick nuke in the microwave soon has your needs met, then its back to the keyboard to enjoy a few more hours of fooling around. Maybe you could get all those damn shards this time, the boosts in resistance do help later on in the game.

“Done and done!” What is Blackwall up to now?

“Dead!” Cassandra too? Oh no, why do you hear fighting?!

“I’m gone for five seconds and you morons pull—” Dropping back into your chair you nearly lose your grasp on the hot mug covered in lyrium styled tattoo marks. Here are your followers all in combat. With the Inquisitor. You take control of the keyboard in time to get one good hit against Blackwall before he knocks your Adaar over with a full-tilt charge. They both go down, health spiraling in the toilet, but no one comes to the big brute’s aid. The other’s revive their teammate and bring Blackwall back to his feet before all three take off on the rain-slick path, leaving you behind in a quagmire full of walking corpses.

“What is going on here?!” You screech as the rotten bodies come marching up the hill to finish off whatever’s left of the depleted Qunari. Nothing you do to get him up again seems to work, you chuck your mouse away in a flash of rage. The batteries go flying out. Fingers slam on ctrl+alt+delete right before the Inquisitor dies. You take the entire computer offline in a hard-reboot.

Now you are angry, the first thing you do when the system has restarted is hit up the forums. No one has any idea what you are talking about, there’s no such mod listed that they can see. Some comment back that it might be a glitch caught in all the layers. They recommend trashing all the mods, backing up a few of the more important saves and then uninstalling Dragon Age to start it over from scratch. That should kick whatever has turned your playable character into what appears to be a targetable enemy or destroyable object, something in the code must have gotten fried.

A few calming emails later, one directed rather poignantly to customer service, you feel safe enough to return to the Lavellan save. Best look for more bugs to document when they get around to writing back. Flycam is fine and dandy, it’s never gotten too screwy before. Besides getting utterly lost in undeveloped game levels a time or two. Solas Smut Saturday is fast approaching again. You did promise a few new choice booty-shots to join in on the weekly fun. Someone had spent an awful long amount of time creating that ass; it would be rude not to appreciate the digital art as it were. Perhaps it might even inspire one of your favorite authors to do a little quickie to satisfy the empty hole Bioware left in your panties—you mean your soul. Maker help you.

Lavellan is still alive and well, excellent. Why not take her, Solas and Cole out for a nice relaxing trip to the Hinterlands. Chase a few rams, pick some elfroot, and pose for a few insanely low angled shots. Those super long shirt flaps were not conducive to such important photography. There’s a mod for that, but after the experiences you’ve already suffered it might be better to keep things simple until the problem is fully resolved.

All is quiet and serene, you cleared this map eons ago and are now overpowered as balls. Not even that pesky dragon and all its little shit-lins could take you down and you won’t be heading that direction anyways. Off you go to find a perfectly lit spot, just the right amount of shadow cast to highlight all of Solas’ elvhen glory without a glare. You take command of him to set up the position, your camera toggle moves freely without any issue. Maybe all that confounded resetting paid off, the dreaded mod finally dead.

There, slanting up on that boulder should work splendidly, though the daylight doesn’t do what the glow of red lyrium or the cold midnight of the desert often achieves. Skin like Solas’ was modeled for shadows and shades, though today’s conquest doesn’t involve those fantastical features. You should write a letter to whomever decided on those lips and chin of his, and it would entail nothing but hallelujahs and gross sobbing.

Just as you get everything in place, the bald elf looking quite fine in the warm light, you hear Cole pipe in off camera. But instead of one of his movie references or obscure remarks he begins to speak of something much, much closer to home.

“Curved caress, so much care created to form. If I could touch it once and learn the shape I might go blind but be ever blessed.”

All the color drains from your face and your stomach drops to the floor. You’ve never heard that dialogue before and you’ll be damned to think that it wasn’t directed at you. Hadn’t you just been drooling over that perfectly poised posterior, delighting in the imagined details that would bring a warm blush to even some of the raunchiest of fictions you’ve read over the last year?

“Are you trying to screw with me? This has got to be a joke.”

The words slip out of your mouth as you gawk at the computer monitor. Your mind is just messing with you, you’ve played this game too much and now are about to fall down the rabbit hole forever. The dreams were bad enough. Gallivanting with Iron Bull through the super market, his horns knocking over an entire shelf full of goodies. Taking Cassandra to your old grade school to scare off all the bullies with her scowl and razor-sharp cheekbones alone. And that one utterly ridiculous evening, the image still forever in your head. When you were a fly on the wall of Zevran’s tent, observing the orchestrated orgy that crossed some serious lines and literally ripped major holes in the fabric of Thedas’ universe.

“With a wave I would have him beauteously bare, breaths brimming, body bursting with benevolence as she holds him to her with not a stitch to hide behind. When you wake up, the words warn but the mouth is stunned with a stolen kiss that becomes so much more, though the motions remain the same. The skin begins to burn, higher, higher, riding up that world-shattering thigh—”

Cole knew that you’d toyed with that naked mod. The little shit! You’d drooled over that first kiss scene with your OTP in the buff for hours, replaying it in sequential gifs. For research of course, the clothes were after all very distracting from your initial analysis of the scene.

That’s it. You’ve finally cracked. The game has ruined you, mind and body. A mortified groan escapes as you slide down in your chair. The mouse slips from your hand, moving the camera away from the apostate’s epic behind and returns to his face. Have you ever seen him red in the cheek before? He fiddles, rocking as if his feet were sore, decidedly embarrassed. Lavellan is laughing somewhere behind him, full of mirth while Cole goes silent once more.

With your toes you dig deep behind the desk, feeling up the wall until you feel a plastic cable. With a hard tug you yank the power cord from its socket and the screen once again goes black, shutting down before it has a chance to save.

For a time, you do little else put stare dumbfounded at the ceiling. This stupid game has won, you have been defeated by imaginary people who have strangely become oh so very real. No one warned you when you got into this fandom that there was no leaving once you’d drunk from that poisoned well. And now you’ve gone mad.

Maybe you should take a walk, get some fresh air. Your head lolls to the side, still flush with the embarrassment of having a fictional spirit read your dirty little mind. What else would he have said if you’d let him continue on? Would he have mentioned all those naughty AUs that took advantage of Solas’ more heated youth? Or even that one glorious smut where past and present collided, and Lavellan had more than enough Dread Wolf for one evening.

Maybe you should just go back to playing Skyrim. Things were safe there, and the mods didn’t take over the games unless you wanted them too.

…

“It’s gone. Did I say something wrong?” Asked Cole, his watery eyes still fixed to the sky.

“No, but maybe next time you should leave such things left unsaid. Solas’ ears look like they are going to burn off.” Lavellan wheezed as the other elf marched off, finally free to do as he pleased.

“I will be finding new attire after this…” The apostate groaned, pulling the long flaps of his tunic further down across the object of the strange entity’s affections.

It seems you aren’t the only one who can play games.


	3. Is that my shirt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt! this one is out of my For The Record AU series.

“Is that my shirt?” Her fingers gripped to the brassy knob of the bathroom door.

  
Chiyo’s other hand had already been firmly placed over her nose and mouth in a feeble attempt to block the noxious smell of photography chemicals that wafted through the hotel room.

  
She’d left him alone for no more than half an hour, just time enough to snag them both a bite to eat.

  
He couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble…

  
Yet there he was, staring up at her, knelt on the tile, wringing a sopping wet, practically new coral blouse over the bath drain.

  
“There was an accident.” Solas gave the shirt another twist, moving carefully around the lineup of tiny bottles and jars that ringed the tub.

  
One lay empty and cast aside, it’s lid broken and oily contents smeared nearly to the door. His pants, unbuttoned top, the papered walls even, were splattered with the stuff.

  
“This is not the ideal space in which to develop my film.” 

  
“And it couldn’t wait until you got back to your lab?” She drew a shallow breath, already dizzy, on the verge of seeing double. “Or couldn’t a bath towel been sacrificed instead?”

  
Chiyo stepped over the elf on the floor and pushed open the narrow window above the toilet.

  
“I was merely attempting to make some use of the down time. A small miscalculation, never my intent… I did wash it out again. Twice.”

  
Into a sink brimming with soapy water, the abused fabric splashed to soak with several other items. Wash rags, hand towels, a pair of his socks, an undershirt, all of which they’d scrubbed by hand the night before and left to dry. Little had been spared the disaster.

  
“I didn’t ask you to rinse my clothes. Just keep your paws off my underwear.” The small elf snatched up the black bralette hanging precariously over the shower curtain rail, before they too met the same ill-fate.

  
She quickly hid the risqué article behind her back as the swatch of lace caught a flicker of his attentions.

  
“Then have my word. I’ll not touch your delicates. Not unless you want me too.” Solas smiled, an awful little quirk in his mouth that stood in place of words he needn’t speak aloud to convey their meaning.

  
Her face immediately flushed pink.

  
“The sandwiches are getting cold.” It was all she could think of before shutting the door and pressing her spine to the painted wood. Her bra-filled fists found their way over her eyes, a thin shield from the scorch of embarrassment.

  
**For shame, for shame**.

  
The thought of doing a little laundry shouldn’t make her feel so… Dirty.


	4. Shh... I'm sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr prompt. Based out of Wolf Dreams, Halla Wakes

“Shh… I’m sleeping.” The words slipped through slackened lips, lost on a slow breath. 

Flipping one more crackling page of the large tome balanced on a knee, Solas waited for the Inquisitor to settle as her head rolled against his outstretched shoulder. 

Wild white curls reached to tickle his chin, with a thumb he brushed them back, tracing the wanton waves behind a long tipped ear ringed with tiny silver trinkets. 

Down her side and over the thick knit of an entirely massive sweater, one that would drown his own body in wool, Solas let his arm settle beneath Chiyo’s and drew it loose around her waist. 

Allowed to lean as she may, the knot of limbs she’d tied herself in began to unravel. Tension fled from overtaxed muscles, joints melted with comfortable reprieve. 

Too much had been forced upon those small bones. Too many innocents, too many enemies, all drawn by the sickly green glow that’d pierced an unwilling palm. 

The old book had lost his interest and was set aside for more proximal curiosities to be sated. With gentle fingers Solas peeled the wadded gray weave away from the hand in her lap and unfurled the fist.

Checking was supposed to bring relief, to smooth his own concerns, but each time he laid eyes upon the Anchor his stomach twisted and jaw clenched a little harder than before. 

It was calm tonight, barely spread from prior borders, but still her skin bore the wounds of the mark’s last use. Every rift came with a price, always tolled in pain. In blood. Red, crusted and raw. This body would not hold the magic forever, a foreign infection with no salve to soothe or herb to cure.

All he could offer was a hand to entwine with, answers to the questions he was able, and a place to rest for what few hours she could steal for herself. It wasn’t much, though he might give her a moment’s curative happiness in the Fade.

‘Sleep well, vhenan. I will find you soon.’


End file.
